Comfort Inn Ending
by withwoes
Summary: Firsts. Mistakes and heavy cannabis; wandering eyes and hurt; lust only for him and fading scents. Lasts.
1. Stay Ready (What a Life)

**This's a short drabble fic inspired by one of my favourite albums. Shoutout to Jhene. **

"I love you." He stopped trailing kisses down my stomach and looked at the wet trail he had created, from its' bottom to the top until he finally found my eyes.

"I love you," he said back. His eyes didn't leave mine. We could have been lying like that forever, but it wouldn't have made a difference because I would have been happy to spend perpetuity with him.

"God, Bella, I love you," his voice contained so much passion, it made me hurt, "so much," he whispered into the crook of my neck and began another trail of kisses down my body.

His lips ghosted over every single visible vein on my neck and chest against my pale skin. When his mouth found my breast, he removed his hands and hips from my body and paid special attention to its' existence.

His tongue lapsed over my bud, creating the only contact between our two bodies. It did things to me – _he _did things to me. With one more whisk of his tongue, I came undone.

And even though we were still only clad in jeans, both completely shirtless and completely bare, I knew he felt the rush between my legs. Because our love ran so deep, not even thick denim could have stopped him from feeling the trickle we produced.

His mouth moved to my other breast, never leaving my skin, he kissed the center in between both of my tits and continued right until he felt the skin covered, tissue filled mountain on my body.

Instead of taking his time like he previously had, he plunged in fast and hard, taking as much as he could fit in his mouth. His hot saliva dripped onto my breast and turned me even more on, if it was even possible.

I needed to touch him – so I did. My hands found themselves on his back, kneading and caressing and touching with my palms, but digging with my nails into his skin and slowly trawled all across. His moans were heavenly. And his grinds even more so.

My legs were spread open, welcoming to him, and his hips were now on my mine, moving without breaking contact, intent on never leaving.

God forbid.

"Edward," I breathed and he came up to kiss me, so I kissed him back with everything I had. "Please, please, please…" I whispered against his lips, begging for clothes to be discarded and openness to be filled.

"Fuck, Bella – "

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" He asked, knowing that there was no going back once we began. But his eyes and body begged for it the way my soul and body, too, did.

"I love you, Edward." And my words gave him all of the certainty in the room.

That night, he made me come alive; giving me something no other person ever had. That night, I gave him something he never had had before: fucking with love, while being in love, with someone he loved.


	2. The Vapors

**This kind of escalated quickly from the last chapter. Sorry. ;) **

AGE 17

"Open wide, Bella," Edward commanded and I smirked at him, defiant but also entranced by his dominance. He's always had this liberal control over me, one that I let him have.

So I do as I'm told; I open my mouth wide and clos my eyes, anticipation rolling off my tongue with each breathe. I could hear the sounds of the paper burning between his fingers as he inhaled.

Suddenly, he sucked in the largest inhalation and pressed his sealed lips to my opened ones, not yet releasing the captured fumes begging to be freed within the walls of his mouth. So I kissed their middle, slowly and tantalizingly until he released.

These small moments – the ones where I could control him – they balanced us out.

I sucked in the fume directly from his mouth and tasted the bitter and the sweet, the tobacco and nicotine and the weed, and the Edward – his green eyes, too.

Slower than I had breathed in his air, I blew the vapor out and it created a marble grey, transparent curtain around us. And then, he kissed me. But this kiss wasn't one that we had shared before. It wasn't just us.

No, it was our souls mixed with our lips, marijuana and cigarettes, cheap beer and stolen Bacardi, and certain setting of higness. And I had never wanted him more than I did in that moment. I wanted him take my body and just pound into it.

I wanted him, right there and right now. But we couldn't because we weren't the only ones in the room.

"Shit – stop sucking each others' faces off." Jake complained but we all knew he was just tired of seeing me with Edward. His ever intoxication proved so.

I moaned half in spite of Jake and half because Edward was squeezing my ass tight and firmly. This is what we do: we put on a show for people. We make them hard and give them something to fuel their fantasies.

But quite literally, it's paradoxical because they fuel us with their gasps and the whispers they think are inaudible to us.

And I'm tired. I'm tired of their thirst making him just as hard as my touch and body could.

Sometimes, he doesn't even fuck because he wants to, instead because it's expected of him to do so. The way it's an expectancy for him to achieve steep levels of importance, now and later, when all he really wants to do is get high.

I remember when we first starting dating, we would talk, more so than anything. It wasn't because we hadn't had sex yet, but because there were secrets involved that were comparable to the dopamine effect sex has on you.

Now, it's drugs and fucking, and the literature we discussed is a distant memory, the plans we wanted executed are no long visible, and art I saw in him is fading the way oil paint deforms on a canvas.

I'm tired of the fact that I know he's going to change even furthermore and I'm still going to spread myself open for him.

At first, it was cannabis every few parties, then it turned into smoking herat every one. Now, it's touching pre-made joints with his perfect hands, before he puts thembetween his lips and pulls every few hours.

He feels blunts up the way he feels my body – cautiously, seductively, and precisely. He's making me hurt because I _know _she'll become more and more prominent in his life and suddenly, on day, he won't want me the way he did before he inhaled that first smoke months ago.

It hurts because he's still the same Edward with me but a motherfucker to others. But that's all right. Because I still get him while I can.

What's hurting me even more than Edward is, is that I want him now and I _know _I'll want him then, when he'll seek drugs more often than release inside my body.

I'm selfish and he's needy. He makes me wanton and I give him innocence he'll lose somewhere along this fuck up, so we can create sin.

I don't know how or when but I felt my back hit against a wall and my legs wrapped around his hips, with his strong hands pull my ass towards his groin.

And their whispers. I felt them, too.

"Bella…" Edward slurs against my mouth and continues on grinding his hips against mine.

I know he felt my desire because it's as open about its waterfall stream in between my legs as I am about my love for him.

I wanted him to fuck me hard - just pound into my body. But not now, not here in a random person's house and Jake starring at us, not with a hard dick that's the product of people talking about the show's we've put on for them before. Not when he's elaborating on a physically inhaled high.

I want him to change for the sake of a wave of high gotten from virgin sex and Whitman and music with a bass that reaches your core.

I want him to change so I no longer have to doubt whether I'm enough to get his cock up or it's people's talk and drugs, too.

I want him to change so I won't have to.

Somewhere in between my back hitting a wall and Edward landing on top of me because he'd just came, I had realized that I didn't want him to change, I _needed _him to.


	3. Comfort Inn Ending

**Is this the breaking point?**

* * *

AGE 18

"Hey, hey, stop crying, pretty – Bella." He wiped the falling tears on my cheeks with his thumb. "Bella…"

I wanted to be angry with him, furious and menacing, but I couldn't. My hands hurting his skin wouldn't be enough because he wouldn't even feel the impact; he's too fucked up. The words I wanted to yell wouldn't even faze him because he was too far from coming down.

How do you hurt someone when they're unable to feel? You don't. They hurt themselves when they realize what they've done.

"Stop," I sniffed and pushed his hands away from my face, "don't touch me." He moved his hands to my waist, instead.

"No!" I sobbed at him, grabbing his wrists and digging my nails into them and flinging them away from my vicinity. "Don't touch me, Edward."

"Bella –"

"No, don't speak."

"Let me ex –"

"You don't get to!" I cried.

I cried. That's all I did that night. The anger didn't set in until the next day. Maybe even, not really, until years later.

I moved away from him and sat on his parents champagne coloured, soft couch, with my legs bent and my arms around them. My tights soaked up all of my tears, but his armor never did. All of the tears and pain I felt in that moment just slid down his cocaine coated armor, never once even managing to wet the powder that stuck to it.

The irony wasn't lost on me. Carlisle and Esme were on an exotic island located outside of Bali, on a second honeymoon. Edward and I were alone if his house, fighting because I was so in love with him, and he, was unable to stay with only me.

I felt the cushion next to me sink with Edward's body weight, his arm resting against mine. Even through all of the pain, I still loved the way he smelled and the perfect temperature of his body heat.

We sniffled; I because of the crying, but he because it was a habit drugs forced on him.

I tied my hair up in a bun and wiped the sodium-induced water from under my eyes, down my cheeks and chin. All throughout, through each breath and moved muscle, I could feel him watching me.

I knew Edward had seen how many tears he caused my to cry that night, but he didn't feel my hurt until we looked each other straight in the eyes. All we saw was the naked truth and naked bodies, naked red eyes and naked pain.

They say the eyes are the key to the soul. That must be true, because mine was shattered, but not yet beyond repair. Edward only felt my pain when he looked into my eyes and gazed over my tattered soul. Only then, his eyes became glossy and wet, filled with remorse and guilt.

I once vowed to my young self that I would try and memorize Edward whenever I could, because his beauty was too sacred and I was so in love with him, I couldn't bare any and all of our seconds together being eclipsed into oblivion.

So that is what I did – I memorized him. I memorized the way his wrapped his hand around my ankle when his teardrop fell. I memorized they way he looked at me when his actions had set in place and he remembered all he had done, all of the pain he caused me, and all of his mistakes.

How do you hurt someone when they're unable to feel? You don't. They hurt themselves once they realize what they've done.

I was so in love with him. I loved Edward's smell and his kisses. I loved how charismatic he became when he was raw. I loved how good he was at being bad. I loved how he rocked in me when we were both naked. I loved how he could make love to me and fuck me hard. I loved, loved, loved.

But I didn't have any devotion to give to his mistakes. I can't love the part of him that decides to fuck someone else.

"It only happened once." Edward whispered, his voice noticeably hoarse.

"I know."

"How do you know?"

I sniffled and whipped the snot from my nose on my hand. "Because I must believe that you love me almost as much as I am in love with you."

His hand traveled up my ankle and leg, until it reached my thigh and proceeded upwards until it was wrapped around my middle.

"I love you – so much," Edward breathed his words outs slowly, "Bella, so much."

"But you're falling in deeper and deeper with _her, _Edward." I would've been a fool not to notice his love affair with drugs.

I think I knew, in the very moment, that I would, one day, no longer be to him what I once was.

And with that, more tears fell.

But at least, they were falling alongside the smoke from the joint in between my lips.


	4. The Worst

**The writing at the beginning's quite rocky. Sorry. **

AGE 19

It never stopped raining. The rain was the only thing to came to close to resembling Forks, everything else was distinctive.

The coffee tasted different, though the same brand, the way people expressed themselves and the breaths I took were more aligned.

I cried so much towards the end, I don't think I remember myself breathing steadily around him, our last week.

Edward overdosed the day I was supposed to catch my plan. The drive to Seattle was loud because of the Chevy and the deep, labored breaths my anxiety caused. He wasn't even near me, but I knew that something was wrong.

Esme called from the hospital, sobbing over how he was unconscious and unresponsive for minutes before his heart restarted. When I got to the hospital, I remember never before having such clear, pristine, 20/20 vision. I could see how worn out and beat his body was. I could see his veins protruding compulsively from his arms, looking tortured from all of the medicine they were injecting to keep him alive.

All throughout our misery, he still looked beautiful, even as sick as he was. He would always be so pretty in my eyes.

He drove me away, subconsciously and I forced him away, purposely.

Only on my rescheduled flight, later that night, did it hit me. It really fucking hit me.

Edward died. He came back. But he almost didn't.

When you leave someone you were in love with behind, you hope they do well, succeed and fuck with people as well as they fucked with you. You resent them for leaving you still doped up on them but you seek and find comfort in knowing that they're breathing.

I pushed Edward away because he was so dependent on drugs. I wanted him to realize that he couldn't keep living the way he was going. He needed to clean up.

I needed to leave, to proceed with living my life and we both knew that. But I was afraid that my need to breath caused him to OD.

Those thoughts never left my mind for a minute during the nine-hour flight. The more tiny bottles of spirits I drank, the harder it was to not think of how vulnerable and soul-naked I last saw Edward. He constantly had a guard up, always, and it was never down for a second until he died.

Esme and I talked often in the beginning, but as more that Edward recovered, the less we called. She said he hasn't said anything about me since the hospital. A nurse came by and told him when he first woke up that I was there for a few hours.

His ivy green eyes express what his words can't, that's how Esme knew that Edward had found out I left. As guilty as I was, it would've been harder if I had stayed, it wasn't an acknowledged fact but known.

London was completely foreign in the beginning. Black tea and ramen noodles were all I lived on. You soon learn that to buy coffee at a shop is cheaper than to buy in packets and that the sky cries your tears for you. You soon find that there's grace in having no physical proof of your sadness other than the empty cigarette packs.

For a long while, I stopped smoking kush. Whenever I tried, all of my thoughts evolved around Edward smoking it or how we used to shotgun, or how the best sex was when we were purely high.

I adapted but not without changed and pain. I no longer drank or used chop, coffee and cigarettes replaced an immeasurable amount of things in my life.

All but one.

He was never replaceable. He was so consuming and mesmerizing that I never fell in love with another being. He always captured all of my love, even from dozens of thousands of miles away. There was a beauty to the art of it, but also misery – misery that I didn't mind.

I met new people and saw a particle of him in each one of them. Until towards the end of my first semester when I met Alice. She differed from Edward in every possible way. She calm, due to the amount of weed she smoked daily, and considerate and indescribable with a vibe that made you tell her all of your sins and passions.

Though we knew everything about each other, she hadn't known about Edward until she was smoking one of her daily bowls and I decided to smoke a joint for the first time in months.

She called me selfish and a bitch for not staying until he recovered from the overdose, then apologized but neither of us regretted her saying those words because they were all so true.

"It would've made it worse."

"He still needed you, B," Alice spoke with her English accent.

I cried all night long. "I know." Then I cried into the morning. "But the more I think about it, the more I realize that he was fucking himself up so I wouldn't leave. I think he hurt himself so I wouldn't leave."

"Edward was desperate for you to stay, that's where I'm getting at."

"Alice," we looked deep into each others' in the eyes, "I was desperate for him to get clean and better for two years. He had a dependency on drugs, and since I had first laid eyes on him, he hadn't been dependent on anyone or anything.

"We both know we can survive without each other. Neither of us wanted to, but we could.

"So we did."

Edward was only ever dependent on drugs. I remember us talking about how from the moment he was able to be independent and make his own money, he stopped depending on his parents for anything they hadn't already given him.

We were both fine. I felt it. I loved him so much but I was fine without him. They way he was without me.

In a way, I began being alone when he became addicted to cocaine. We were together by the label of a couple and the kisses and sex we shared, but drugs soon grew more and more prominent in his life, slowly replacing almost everything I could give him with a neurological effect forced by a chemical powder.

We could survive without each other because the love would always be there but it would get pushed further and further into a hidden abyss and someone else could fulfill our needs.

Fucking is fucking but the emotion we put into it is what makes it so special. Lust is lust.

We survived without each other because we never forgot about what we once had and felt and shared. We never forgot about it because it never disappeared. It was waiting to emerge form the secret abyss.

Years later, it emerged.

***sighs* Uni years...**


End file.
